


Something Like That

by aubergine_despot



Category: Kaleidotrope (Podcast)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Just working through some of my Harridrew thoughts, M/M, May or may not be internally consistent, Microfic, Mostly Fluff, Prompt Fic, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubergine_despot/pseuds/aubergine_despot
Summary: Ep. 10:DREW: So there’s magic all around us and most of it is fanfiction?HARRISON: [laughs] Something like that.A series of ficlets about Harrison, Drew, and how they fit together. Updating as I complete prompts; currently at 14/50.





	1. Short & (Mostly) Sweet

_AN: All the feels in 150 words or less._

_ **Ring** _

Drew hides the box deep in the bottom of his sock drawer, where he knows Harrison never looks. (Harrison thinks Drew's socks are too boring to steal. Drew buys boring socks so Harrison won't steal them.)

Drew's fairly sure it's too soon to ask, but he likes to think of the ring inside as a promise, waiting until they're ready.

_ **Run** _

Harrison likes to tease Drew about his "running habit," and he's not far off. Apart from drinking coffee and kissing Harrison, it's the only thing Drew tries to make time for every day. It's not that he's a fitness nut or anything; it's just that when the rhythm of his feet on the ground matches up with the beat in his ears, it's almost like his brain -- stops. Not empty, but tranquil, meditative; his swirling sea of thoughts and observations and ideas and worries is as present as ever, but his consciousness can float peacefully above it for as long as his legs are moving.

_ **Cold** _

"Harrison, your feet are freezing."

"Oh?"

"...That wasn't an invitation!"

"But your legs are so _warm._"

"Yes, _my_ legs. _My_ body heat. Stop trying to steal it."

"Well, I wouldn't *have* to steal it if *you* didn't keep stealing all the blankets."

"I'd hardly call it stealing when you toss them off first. 'It's so hot out, I'm _dying_.' That's a direct quote."

"Sure, but that was back when I was fully clad in pyjamas... I mean, if you _want_ me to put them back on, I can always--"

"No! No need for that, I'm sure we can work something out. A blanket cease-fire."

"Hmmm... or..."

_"Or..."_

"There are other ways to warm up. That is, if you're not already too hot with all your blankets over there."

"Too hot for _you,_ maybe."

"Ugh. You're terrible."

"You love it."

"I do."

"C'mere."

"Even though my feet are freezing?"

"Mm. Consider this your invitation."

_ ** Fall ** _

**** Things that make Drew fall a little harder:

  * The way Harrison's shirt rides up a little when he stretches his arms over his head in a yawn.
  * The way Harrison grins when he catches Drew staring.


	2. Hero

Harrison eyed the plastic guitar tucked against Drew's TV with interest.

"I never suspected you for a gamer."

"What?"

Harrison nodded in the direction of the console.

"What, just because I like writing and music, I can't play video games?" Drew's tone was aiming for affronted, but as seemed to be the norm around Harrison these days, it got tangled up in affection and fell hopelessly short of annoyance.

"No, I just -- it's a surprise, is all. But you're right. I shouldn't have prejudged you." Harrison paused, peering more closely the gaming console. "Though, that system's, like, ten years old." He gasped softly, all delight as realization took hold. "Drew, are you a video game _hipster_?"

"No," Drew said in automatic protest. "They just don't make rhythm games like they used to." Which was the absolute wrong thing to say, he realized as soon as the words had left his mouth.

Harrison snickered at his mistake. "Spoken like a true hipster."

"Or a curmudgeon. Maybe I'm a gaming curmudgeon."

"Only you would think being a curmudgeon was better than being a hipster," Harrison said, the fondness in his eyes taking any sting out of the words.

"Have you ever played?" Drew asked, opening up now that it was clear Harrison wasn't going to judge him for his hobby. (Not that he'd been particularly worried that _Harrison_ would judge him like that -- just, old wounds made for old habits; hard to break and all that.)

"Never," Harrison admitted.

"Here, let me show you," Drew said, turning on the system and slinging the guitar strap over his shoulder. "It's actually sort of zen when you get into it; sometimes when I can't relax it helps to zone out with some rock anthems for awhile."

Drew selected a song from the game menu, explaining the process to Harrison in a running commentary as he played through the opening notes.

"It's pretty simple. You can see the notes ahead as they come down the track, but you only have to worry about them when they hit the circles on the bottom. When the note is in the circle, make sure you're holding down the right button on the neck of the guitar, and then hit the strum bar -- that's this big switch-type button -- on the body."

Drew played a few moments longer while Harrison watched his hands move over the controller, then paused the game. He unslung the guitar strap and handed the controller to Harrison.

"Ready?"

Harrison adjusted the strap, positioned his hands on the guitar like Drew had shown him, and nodded.

"OK, unpausing now," Drew said, pressing the button.

Harrison promptly failed out of the song.

"Don't worry, everyone has trouble at first," Drew said. "Just hit replay. You'll get the hang of it."

After three more failures in less than a minute, Harrison quipped, "So much for my dreams of a rock star AU." His voice was light, but Drew could tell that Harrison was about ready to call it quits.

"Here, let me help," Drew said, stepping up close behind Harrison. "I'll play the notes, and you focus on the strum bar."

Drew reached up to cover Harrison's fingers with his own on the colourful fret buttons. He felt a slight tremor against his chest as Harrison shivered in response.

"Ready?" Drew asked again.

Harrison nodded, his hair brushing against Drew's cheek as Drew craned his neck to see the screen. Drew reached his other hand around to press the start button, and then let his hand drop, resting lightly near Harrison's waist.

They made it much farther into the song this time, Harrison at first focusing intently on the screen, and then slowly relaxing as the notes continued sailing by, a string of bright colours. They were almost at the end when Harrison froze, missing several notes in a row before Drew thought to pause the game.

"Oh. My. God," said Harrison, sounding awed.

"What?" Drew asked.

"I cannot believe you just did that."

"Did what?"

Harrison carefully turned to face Drew. The guitar still held in Drew's hand slid to Harrison's back, the strap now crossed over his chest, as they stood, inches apart. (_Close enough that Drew would barely even have to tilt his head to kiss him,_ pointed out the unhelpful part of Drew's brain that seemed to spend all of its time lately thinking about kissing Harrison.)

"You just pulled the whole 'Oh here let me help you as I wrap my arms around you in a totally helpful and not at all flirtatious way' move, with a _ten-year-old rhythm video game_. That was either the nerdiest smooth move, or the smoothest nerdy move, I have _ever_ seen, and I can't _believe_ I fell for it."

Drew raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Here I am trying to provide assistance, and you accuse me of ulterior motives."

Harrison glared, not at the least convinced. "Don't give me that. I _know_ you, Drew."

Four simple words, but in Harrison's mouth they were a spell, a bolt, piercing Drew to the core of his being, all levity gone from the moment as Drew's heart, already beating fast from proximity to Harrison, thrilled at hearing those words spoken so simply, so confidently, so filled with warmth instead of the always-braced-for disappointment.

"And yet, as you say, you fell for it," Drew said, voice straining to wrap itself the armour of nonchalance but coming out taut and breathless anyway. His frozen muscles sang with potential energy as he took in Harrison's smiling face, his laughing eyes. As he watched Harrison's expression change to something sweeter and softer and altogether content; an expression Drew still had trouble believing could be meant for him.

"I did," Harrison said, voice barely more than whisper in the space between them, arms reaching up to wrap themselves around Drew's neck. "I seem to keep falling for you. Lucky you're there to catch me."

"Lucky," Drew agreed, _god, how could he have gotten so lucky,_ and closed the distance to capture Harrison's mouth in a kiss.


	3. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real reason Drew hardly ever goes to Kishi's.

When Harrison first sees Drew's kitchen -- well, Harrison doesn't really notice Drew's kitchen, the first time he's in it; he's more focused on Drew's hands and Drew's mouth and how quickly they can move to Drew's bedroom than what's on Drew's counters. But the second time Harrison ends up in Drew's kitchen, it's impossible not to notice the shrine to caffeine set up in the corner.

There's a wheeled cart bearing a coffee grinder and espresso machine that look like they cost more than Harrison's textbooks for the semester. The cart's top shelf holds canisters and bags that Harrison assumes contain coffee beans; most are unlabelled, but at least one of them bears the logo of the "fancy" stuff that Harrison's too cheap to buy. The bottom shelf seems to be devoted to paraphernalia: a French press, a pour-over, a weird plastic tube-thing that looks... suspicious. There are _three different kettles_. And that's not even taking into account the cupboard above it all, which seems just as obsessively devoted to tea. 

"So tell me again why I have to practically drag you to Kishi's?"

Drew blushes, caught out. (_God, he's cute when he blushes,_ Harrison thinks for about the thousandth time that week.) 

"I prefer my coffee without mandatory performative flirting?"

"All flirting is perfomative, Drew. That's basically what flirting _is_. A performance."

Drew makes that face that means he doesn't quite agree, but doesn't want to get into it right now. Harrison lets it slide, because --

"Wait, does this mean you won't make me a latte if I flirt with you?"

Drew laughs. (Ugh, his _laugh_. It isn't _fair_, what that does to Harrison.)

"I think I could make an exception for you."

"Good, because I need one. For _some reason_, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Drew laughs again, fondly, and sets to work.


	4. Music

It's not really that Harrison's taste in music is objectively terrible. It's that he's perfectly happy listening to the radio, bopping along to whatever's on, and _their_ choice of music often leaves something to be desired.

Drew's taken to making him Spotify playlists, curated by mood and activity:

_Upbeat Cleaning Songs_

_Angry Cleaning Songs_

_Cooking Dance Party_

_Ambient Studying Music_

_Post-Breakup Wallowing (For Archival Purposes Only Harrison This Is NOT a Passive-Aggressive Hint)_

_So Fucking In Love With You_

Drew's going on his tenth straight hour in the studio working on the broadcasting group project from hell when his phone buzzes with a series of messages from Harrison. He ignores the dirty looks from his group partners -- they've already recorded this segment a dozen times over, and as far as Drew's concerned, they've got enough usable material to finish the project twice.

_Harrison <3: Almost done?_

_Harrison <3: Thinking of you_

_Harrison <3: https://open.spotify.com/user/629471204/playlist/27Cv3wSS0Wst9iReh3sjey_

Maybe it's just that it's two a.m. and Drew's near to breaking, but he laughs so hard that he chokes on his contraband coffee when he sees Harrison's addition to his playlists:

_So Fucking In Love With You v2.0 (NSFW)_

If Harrison is smug when Drew arrives home less than twenty minutes later, well, Drew is hardly about to complain. Not when Harrison is wearing _that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very Important Detail that would not fit in the story: Drew drunkenly added the <3 to Harrison's contact info one night, and is now constantly torn between wanting to delete it in shame because he thinks it's cheesy, and grinning every time he sees it because it's cheesy but true.


	5. Forever

It's dark in their room, but Drew's eyes have long since adjusted. He can make out the shape of Harrison's head snuggled against his chest, the fall of Harrison's hair as Drew cards his fingers through it. It's getting long, Drew thinks; probably only a week or two before he comes home to find Harrison's had it chopped back into something angular and asymmetrical that accentuates his cheekbones. Or maybe he's letting it grow out a bit -- that would look great, too; when Harrison's hair gets long it starts to curl at the ends in a way that Harrison complains about and Drew finds utterly irresistible. Drew's thoughts continue in that direction for awhile, until Harrison rouses slightly, reaching up to squeeze an arm around Drew's side in a sleepy hug before settling back in with a contented sigh. 

Once, in the time Drew has privately taken to calling the years BH -- Before Harrison -- Drew would have spent the bad nights tossing and turning miserably as his brain ran a hundred miles per hour chasing down every looming anxiety, every mistake he'd made, every thing he should have done differently in the past seventeen years of his life (his toddler years, at least, he couldn't remember well enough for self-recrimination). He would eventually exhaust himself enough to fall into a fitful sort of sleep for a few hours as the sun rose, then build up a new bank of regrets for the next time when he inevitably took out his exhausted frustration on the world around him. 

Now? Drew knows it will only be another hour or so before Harrison's regular breathing soothes him into his own sleep, but in the meantime he could happily spend forever letting his brain obsess over all the mundane, magical little details that make Harrison _Harrison_.


	6. Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the eye of a hurricane_  
There is quiet  
For just a moment  
A yellow sky

Drew stands frozen in the basement of the library, mind blank, unable to even compute what just happened. What he just did. He’s staring blankly into the space where Harrison was a moment before, fingers clutching white-knuckled at the strap of his messenger bag where it crosses his chest, as though he could reach into his heart and pull its tattered pieces together. His ears are filled with a dull roar and the echo of Harrison’s words.

“All you ever do is fill me with doubt.”

Contrary to popular belief, Drew has, in fact, listened to Hamilton. He went through a whole phase a few years back, just like everyone else on tumblr.

He’s never lived through a hurricane, but the lyrics come to him unbidden, breaking through the senseless chaos of his thoughts. He feels like he might understand them better now; might know something of the devastation of having your entire world destroyed in a moment.

And then he feels like shit, because in a real hurricane, people _die,_ and he’s just maybe fucked up his love life irreparably.

Drew is suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He wants this night to be over with. He wants to go home and hide in bed for the rest of his life, or at least the next fifteen years. He wants to scream at the world for being so unfair, for having the gall to introduce him to someone so amazing and then making it all fall to pieces in an argument over something meaningless and stupid that happened to _other people 150 years ago_. He wants to scream at _himself_, for rising to the bait, for not being able to let it go, for turning the valentine into a metaphor so that he could wrap it into a neat little ball filled with all of his issues and insecurity, and fling it right in Harrison’s face.

But he’s in a library, so he doesn’t scream. And he has a show to do, so he can’t go home.

Instead, he does what he always does when the people he loves don’t love him back: He just keeps going. He learns the lesson and moves on.

He goes to the sock hop.

And if he’s a miserable wreck on the air, well, at least he’s there. He’s doing his job. He’ll weather this storm, just like every other time.

He’s well on his way to throwing himself a proper pity party for the whole school to hear when it strikes him — the hypocrisy of his insistence that they reveal the truth about the valentine. Somehow, despite all his claims about “journalistic responsibility” and his wounded need to shine a light on Harrison’s self-deceptions, he never once considered that maybe Harrison deserved the truth about something else, something more important than a stupid feel-good story that made people happy.

That, at least, he can make right. He’s got his Moleskine here somewhere. It might not fix things with Harrison, but Drew owes him this, at least.


	7. Red

Harrison could probably have resisted Drew, if it wasn’t for that blush.

Harrison’s blushes were blotchy affairs; inelegant, patchy splotches that marched defiantly across his face, informing the world of his persistent inability to rein in his emotions. When Harrison felt a blush coming on, he tried to find an excuse to be somewhere else for a moment until the heat receded from his face.

Drew blushed like a painter brushing delicate watercolours across a speckled field. Harrison was entranced by the way the colour would spread from his cheeks to his ears, run hot across the back of his neck, pick out his cheekbones with perfect rosy accents. He loved to watch Drew’s freckles fade as the red washed over his face, then reappear again, stark against his pale skin, as the blush receded.

In his more whimsical moments (so most of the time, if he was being honest), Harrison felt like a conjurer, wielding the magic words that would make Drew duck his head bashfully as the transformation overtook him. A compliment here; a suggestive comment there; once, in an achievement that gave him no small amount of smug satisfaction, nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

It was profoundly unfair, that Drew could blush so adorably when Harrison’s own expressions of embarrassment were so awkward. Probably that was why he didn’t feel at all bad trying to provoke them on-air. A work of art shouldn’t exist only to be hidden away. If anything, Harrison was doing god’s work by sharing it with the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been toying with the idea of Drew [looking like this](https://eggy-tea.tumblr.com/post/187584237111/its-a-drew-blushing-and-trying-to-look) lately. Though honestly, at least 95% of the reason I imagine him with freckles is just so Harrison can fixate on them as he tries not to stare at Drew too obviously.


	8. Whisper

“Drew, this paper is due tomorrow,” Harrison hisses, and honestly, Drew can respect that, but his boyfriend is actually brilliant and Drew’s pretty sure the essay as it stands is already an A paper. Harrison could spend the whole night polishing it to an A+, but he doesn’t _need_ all four hours before they should really head back home. What he _needs, _Drew thinks_,_ based on months now of careful observation, is to relax for a few minutes so that he can return to the paper with a fresh mind and finish his edits some time before midnight.

“I’ll stop if you really want me to,” Drew says honestly, calling Harrison’s bluff. To emphasize his sincerity, he stills his hands, pausing where they were kneading the tension from Harrison’s shoulders.

Harrison growls in annoyance. “Don’t you dare stop. I just — I have to get back to work soon.”

“I can be efficient,” Drew says, digging his thumb into a particularly persistent knot at the juncture of Harrison’s neck and shoulder where Drew knows Harrison carries a lot of his stress. Harrison moans in appreciation.

“Shhhhh!” comes a voice from the other side of the stacks.

“Sorry!” Drew whispers back, not actually sorry. Or at least, not sorry enough to stop, not when Harrison is leaning into him like that.

“You know,” muses Harrison between appreciative little sounds that make Drew’s heart do funny things, “if you were just willing to study at Kishi’s like everyone else, noise wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t be doing this,” Drew murmurs, dropping a kiss to the nape of Harrison’s neck.

“Mmm, that _is_ compelling,” Harrison allows.

“SHHHHH!” they hear again, significantly louder than last time. If a whisper could be a shout, Drew thinks, that’s what it would sound like.

“You know,” Drew says, voice a flutter of breath in Harrison’s ear, “if we packed up now we could finish this at home.” He doesn’t specify which “this” he’s talking about.

“I seem to recall us coming to the library because we weren’t getting any work done at home.”

“We’re not getting any work done here, either,” Drew points out reasonably as he presses a kiss to the tender spot at the back of Harrison’s jaw.

“And whose fault is that, Drew? I still have work to do.”

“Fine,” Drew allows, putting on a long-suffering sigh because he knows it amuses Harrison. “Five minutes, and I’ll let you get back to writing.”

“You’re too kind,” Harrison says, pulling out his phone. “I’m setting a timer.”

Drew chuckles as Harrison does just that. It feels like a challenge.

Drew is _very_ good at rising to a challenge.

When Harrison’s phone chimes to tell them that the five minutes are done, Drew is inclined to ignore it. The person one row over, however, is having none of it.

“For the LOVE of God. Will You Two. PLEASE! Stop Making Out. And shut off your _GODDAMNED_ phone. Some of us are _trying_ to STUDY!”

Harrison and Drew collapse into hopeless giggles, breathless from laughter and kisses as they hear their erstwhile neighbour slamming their books closed and pushing in their chair.

“Kishi’s next time,” Harrison says decisively.

“Please,” says Drew. “This is far from the worst thing that’s gone on in this library, I’m sure. We have a _romance_ reading room.”

“Those chairs _are_ very comfortable. And surprisingly spacious.”

Drew lays one more kiss on Harrison’s shoulder before turning back to his own books. “Don’t you have work to do?” he asks, all innocence.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

Drew grins at Harrison, pride and fondness all mixed up together. “Half an hour and we’ll go home,” he promises.

It takes them thirty-three minutes, in the end, but really, who’s counting?


	9. Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advance warning about this one: Things get heavy. It's hinted at in the podcast that Drew's had some pretty damaging relationships in the past, and while I don't get into any specific details here, this is about that.

It’s hard for Drew to talk about it.

It’s always been easier to push it aside, tell himself he’d moved past it. By the time he’d met Harrison it was ancient history, so why bring it up?

But it’s not just hurting him, anymore.

Harrison tries to quickly hide the look that flashes across his face when Drew freezes up, but Drew has spent too much of his life looking for disappointment from the people he loves not to notice it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, avoiding Harrison’s eyes, breathing slow and deliberate as he tries to recenter himself.

This is stupid. It’s Harrison. Harrison would never hurt him. Drew truly, genuinely believes that. So what the hell is wrong with him that he’s still like this?

Harrison has stilled, too. He’s retreated a bit, giving Drew space, and part of Drew appreciates it but another part of him wants to scream. When Drew glances up again, he sees that Harrison is watching him very closely.

He’s not sure what Harrison sees in his expression, but it’s almost certainly not what he’s looking for, because his face crumples a bit before putting on what Drew privately calls his “brave look.”

Drew can’t meet Harrison’s eyes any longer, looks down at his own hands instead. They’ve gone very still in his lap. _At least they aren’t shaking._

He feels more than sees Harrison tentatively reach out to him. Harrison is so, so gentle as his fingers touch Drew’s back, and something inside Drew breaks open beneath the grounding pressure of Harrison rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Drew’s become like a soap bubble, somehow, so fragile that that he bursts at the slightest touch.

A choking sob escapes him, then another, followed by a great shudder that leaves him feeling boneless and untethered as he collapses into Harrison’s arms. He buries his face in the crook of Harrison’s neck, hating himself a little for ruining their evening, even as he revels in the warmth of Harrison’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters again. He knows it’s not enough, that simply saying he’s sorry won’t make the night right again. He presses the words into Harrison’s skin anyway, hoping they’ll be absorbed into his bloodstream, carried straight to his heart. _I love you_, is what he means, feeling it wild and almost desperate, but no one’s much been happy to hear those words from Drew when he’s screwed up in the past.

“Drew,” Harrison says, and pauses.

He’s waiting, Drew knows, for him to look up. Drew’s not quite ready for that yet. He needs to tell Harrison, first —

“Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me there,” and no, that’s not it, that’s not actually true, Drew knows exactly what the trigger was, but he doesn’t have the _words_ (god he’s normally so good with words why is this so _hard_) to explain what happened, and —

“Drew,” Harrison says again. “It’s okay.”

When Harrison says it, it sounds like he means it. Not like… other people. There’s no scorn for Drew’s weakness, no barely-concealed annoyance that he’s even having to reassure Drew at all.

Which is unsurprising, of course, because he’s _Harrison,_ and that’s part of why Drew loves him. Harrison, with his arms still around Drew, holding him tight and steady. Harrison, whose shoulder is now damp with from the tears that managed to escape Drew’s furious blinking attempt to hold them in. Harrison, who Drew does in fact trust with his whole heart, despite how poorly that’s gone for him in the past.

This time, Drew does look up. He almost hides his face again when he sees the tears standing in Harrison’s eyes — _look what you’ve done_ — but Harrison reaches up to cup Drew’s cheek and instead Drew leans into it, drawing strength from the touch.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, because it seems that’s all he can say tonight.

“You have _nothing_ to apologize for.”

Drew knows that’s not true, but it’s nice of Harrison to say it all the same. He tries to explain. “I really don’t know why I reacted like that.”

Harrison’s expression goes soft. “I don’t want to presume, but that seemed an awful lot like a trigger response to me.”

Drew can’t respond to that, because — he just can’t.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Not if you’re not ready.”

Drew grimaces in frustration. He shuts his eyes again, screwing up his courage, marshalling his words. “No, you deserve to know. It’s just — ridiculous. It wasn’t even anything that bad. We never did anything I really didn’t want to do.”

Harrison’s breath hitches, but he says nothing. His thumb traces across Drew’s cheek, catches the edge of his eyelashes, dislodging the cool tears hanging there. His other hand continues its slow circles on Drew’s back.

Drew sinks his head gratefully onto Harrison’s shoulder. He’s not sure where to start. At the beginning, he supposes. That’s usually how it’s done.

He talks, one word carefully laid after another, giving voice to feelings and experiences he’s spent so long trying to repress. He speaks in fits and starts and eventual cascades as the story — the stories — tumble out of him. The whole time Harrison sits, and listens, and holds him close.

When he’s done, Drew feels raw and tender and surprisingly light, like he’s been walking around covered in a layer of thick scab that he’s finally peeled off to find new, healthy skin underneath.

It’s not all better, but it is better. He’s still shaky — fragile, and oversensitive, and vulnerable. But Harrison knows, now. Harrison knows, and he still says he loves Drew, and when Drew looks Harrison in the eye he believes him.

Drew’s not naive enough to think that it’s all behind him now, but Harrison’s on his side, and here in this moment, sitting on the couch in their apartment, wrapped up in each other’s arms, Drew feels secure in the knowledge that the next time his ghosts come back to haunt him, they’ll be able to get through it together.


	10. Overwhelmed

It’s dark outside when Harrison opens the door to their apartment. He’s just come back from campus, from writing a final and handing in a term paper, but he’s half an hour later than he’d planned because he missed the bus by all of thirty seconds. He is tired, and hungry, and he has another final tomorrow morning. He just wants to eat something and go to bed.

“Is that you, Harrison?” Drew’s voice comes from the kitchen.

“It had better be, unless you gave someone else a key,” Harrison says, kicking off his shoes in the entryway. He means it as a joke, but he’s so wiped out it it comes out flat.

Harrison makes his own way into the kitchen, where Drew is leaning against the counter eating a slice of pizza from a box. 

Correction, the _last_ slice of pizza from the box.

“How’d your exam go?” he asks.

“Fine,” Harrison says, not really up for talking right now. Besides, it’s true. It was fine.

He looks again at the pizza box. “I don’t suppose there’s any of that left,” he says, knowing what the answer will be but hoping to hear something different anyway. “I didn’t actually have supper.”

“No, sorry,” Drew says. “I though you were going to eat something on campus before your final.”

“I was, but the printer in the computer lab in the Student Union building was broken, so I had to go the the main lab in Sayers to print off my paper. I ran out of time.”

“Sorry,” says Drew again. “I would have saved you some if I’d known. It’s just — Dino’s isn’t that great by day three, so I thought it would be better to get it eaten today and clear out some space in the fridge.”

Normally, Harrison would agree. Hell, normally Harrison would tell Drew to go ahead and finish it off, because he loves fresh pizza but he’s not as big on leftovers — that’s more Drew’s thing. But Harrison’s had kind of a shitty day. He just wants something warm to eat that doesn’t require any effort on his part, and he knows for a fact that there were four slices of pizza in that box when he left earlier this afternoon. It wouldn’t have been hard for Drew to just leave _one_ of them.

He doesn’t say that, of course, because Harrison also knows that he’s being kind of unreasonable. But he feels it, and he knows Drew can sense it too, because while Drew can be incredibly slow on the uptake about anything positive, he seems to have a sixth sense for when Harrison’s annoyed with him.

“It’s fine,” Harrison says, rooting through their cupboards. “I’ll just have some oatmeal.”

“I can make it for you,” Drew offers, going for the kettle, but he hesitates so Harrison beats him there.

“It’s fine,” Harrison repeats, turning on the faucet and filling the kettle with water. “I’ll do it.”

“Harrison, you’ve had a long day. I can do this for you.”

Of course Drew _can_ do it for him. The issue isn’t whether or not Drew _can_ do things — it’s whether or not he _does_ them. Nothing today has gone as planned, and frankly, that could have been avoided. “If you’d wanted to do something for me,” Harrison snaps, “you should have gone out and gotten ink for the printer like you said you would. Then I could have printed out my paper at home, and we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Sorry,” Drew says, starting to sound irritated in his own right, “but the store was closed by the time I finished my digital media project. I told you that yesterday. There’s ink in there now — I picked some up today.”

“Great, thanks. _After_ I had to go to campus to print off my paper. The ink’s been empty for a _week,_ Drew. You could have gotten some any time.”

Drew grits his teeth in frustration at that. He clearly wants to say something to defend himself, Harrison can see it written all over his face, but he changes his mind. “You’re right,” he says instead, voice hard and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone now.”

Drew turns and goes. On the counter, the water comes to a boil. Harrison looks at the roiling bubbles breaking on the water’s surface, and feels a kinship there.

He makes his oatmeal, takes it into their room, and latches the door securely, knowing that Drew will not follow if the door is closed. He’s too keyed up from the fight to sleep, now, but he can still study, so he takes his textbook from his desk, arranges a small mountain of pillows behind his back, wraps himself in his favourite fleece blanket, and angrily stabs at his oatmeal as he reviews for his next exam in — he glances at the clock — fifteen hours, now.

* * *

Harrison emerges half an hour later with the blanket still draped over his shoulders. Nominally, his plan is to put his bowl in the dishwasher, but mostly he’s come out to see if Drew’s still angry.

Drew isn’t in the kitchen, but it’s not a very big apartment. Harrison checks the living room next.

Drew is sitting at his desk with his back to the door, head down, headphones on. He’s writing something. Harrison pads over softly, but clears his throat when he gets close so as not to startle Drew.

Drew turns around. They make eye contact for a moment, then both look away quickly.

“Hey,” Harrison says, examining the edge of his blanket as he fidgets with the silky binding. It’s starting to come undone near the corner. He should probably fix that at some point.

“Hey,” Drew says, placing his pen on his notebook and flipping it closed.

“So, I wanted to apologize. I was cranky, and unfair, and I took my day out on you.”

“…It’s okay.”

“It’s not, really. I’m sorry.”

Drew is quiet for a moment. “I accept your apology, then,” he says. “And I’m sorry for not getting the ink, and for eating all of the pizza.”

Harrison chuckles a little, sadly. “It’s not even that I wanted the pizza. I just didn’t want to have to deal with another thing.”

“I get that.”

Drew reaches out to catch Harrison’s fingers with his own, and Harrison lets him. Some of the tension evaporates from the room.

With their joined hands, Harrison gestures tentatively towards Drew’s notebook. “Can I read it?” he asks. Drew processes through writing, Harrison has learned; sometimes, it’s easier to read what’s going on in Drew’s head than it is to try to talk it out.

Harrison can see that Drew wants to say no. It’s clear in the way his shoulders tense up, rising defensively.

Harrison hates that he sometimes makes Drew feel this way.

“It’s okay,” Harrison says. “Forget I asked.”

Instead, Drew lets go of Harrison’s hand for a moment, turns around to pick up the notebook. He offers it to Harrison, recapturing Harrison’s fingers as soon as Harrison’s got the notebook open.

“…You should probably skip past the first part,” Drew says. “I was upset.”

Harrison doesn’t skip it, of course. (They both know he won’t. He never does.) Drew has trusted him with this glimpse into his inner self, and Harrison is not going to pass it up just to spare his own feelings.

It still aches to read, mostly because Drew is observant enough to be able to hit where it hurts — with the truth. Like how, when Harrison’s looking for a fight, he’s hardly going to let a little thing like Drew trying to be nice get in the way of his pent-up annoyance. And how Drew’s stressed, too, but he hasn’t been taking it out on Harrison. (Drew doesn’t specifically mention that last part, but it’s true. Drew turtles before he lashes out. Harrison lashes out, then turtles.)

Really, they’ve both been having a terrible finals week, and in less than a week Harrison will get to go spend the holiday with people who love and support him, while Drew will have to take a transatlantic flight into a vipers’ nest (again, Harrison’s words; Drew might argue over the assessment, but Harrison feels it’s entirely fair).

Harrison continues reading. He’s past the venting, now, and onto the part where Drew always amazes him. Because when Harrison gets angry, he explodes, then cools off, then apologizes. He’s getting better with the whole process, toning down the hurtful parts and passing more quickly to the part where he makes it right. But it’s still all emotion, guided by feelings that can sometimes lead him down very rocky paths. Drew gets mad, then gets reasonable, then gets to work. By the end of the second page, he’s got an eight-point action plan listing all of the things he intends to do to make Harrison’s life just a little bit better, and honestly, Harrison’s getting pretty choked up just looking at it — a sure sign that he’s still feeling overwhelmed by Too Much Stuff To Deal With. And now here’s Drew being all Drew-y, still holding his hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over Harrison’s knuckles, and — it’s just a lot, okay?

So he can be forgiven for how small and watery his voice is when he gives the notebook back to Drew and says, “I could really use some number three right now.”

“Which one was that?” Drew checks his list. “Ah, yes. Want to come sit on the couch?”

Harrison nods — that would be nice. Drew leads him by the hand, settling himself onto the couch with a pillow in his lap before guiding Harrison to lay his head down. He arranges the blanket more snugly around Harrison’s shoulders, and Harrison burrows in, letting Drew soothe away his tension as he gently massages Harrison’s scalp.

They sit like that for awhile, Harrison focusing on breathing and the feeling of Drew’s body beneath him. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed this. He can feel all of the built-up stress from the past few days — _month, really_ — slowly thawing in his muscles, melting out of him. Soon he’s a puddle on Drew’s lap, barely able to move.

Eventually, Drew squeezes his shoulder, and he perks up a bit, cracking open an eye and turning his head to look at Drew.

The smile on Drew’s face, warm and content, fills Harrison’s heart to overflowing. Harrison can’t even help it; he grins back, biting his bottom lip.

“I can keep going with this if you’d like,” Drew murmurs, “but I was was thinking that in a minute we might try number seven. It’s always good for some stress relief.

Harrison lets out a small, surprised laugh. He’s fairly sure he’s blushing. “That sounds nice. I’d like that.”

They sit there another moment, neither quite ready to move.

“…Love you,” Harrison says, and the words never feel big enough for what he means but he’s pretty sure Drew understands anyway.

He can hear the soft smile in Drew’s voice as he responds, “Love you too.”


	11. Wings

Drew’s friendship with Hal can be dated back to October of his second year at Sidlesmith, and a truly horrific group project.

More accurately, it can be dated back to the day they turned in the project, to Hal turning to Drew at the end of class and saying, “Austen’s has half price wings on Wednesdays. Want to go get weeknight drunk and celebrate never having to work with those people ever again?”

Drew was surprised, mostly because up until that point he’d assumed he was included in the list of people Hal would be drinking to forget. She’d certainly spent enough time over the past two weeks scowling in his direction — it just hadn’t occurred that maybe she’d been scowling _with_ him rather than _at_ him.

Either way, he certainly hadn’t made enough friends at school that he was willing to pass up the invitation. Nor was he going to argue when, stumbling back dorm-ward, Hal had declared, “That was fun. We should do it again.”

And so Wing Wednesday was born. Drew, introverted by nature, could have done without the crowd that packed into the campus pub to gorge on cheap chicken, but his friendship with Hal was important enough to him that Drew made it a policy not to cancel on their biweekly tradition without a very good reason.

Given the downright evil gleam in Hal’s eyes now, he’s starting to regret that policy.

“So… you like him, right?”

“What?”

“Harrison.”

“I think he’s a good co-host, sure,” Drew says, turning his attention to his drink. Because the wing sauce is hot and it’s making him thirsty, of course. Not because he’s avoiding Hal’s eyes.

The unimpressed stare comes through loud and clear anyway, Hal taking on her special “I-can’t-believe-you’re-going-to-make-me-spell-this-out-but-of-course-you-are-because-you’re-Drew-and-for-someone-so-insightful-you-can-be-remarkably-dense” tone. (Which, admittedly, would be a lot to read into a tone of voice, except for the fact that Hal has said those exact words to him on more than one occasion.)

“Drew. What I mean is, you’re obviously hopelessly into him.”

Drew nearly chokes on his drink. _“What?”_ he coughs.

“Don’t give me that,” Hall scoffs. “Even your listeners can tell, and they don’t spend all show watching you make heart eyes in Harrison’s direction. Hell, the only reason I didn’t invite him along tonight is so I could make you dish about it. So spill.”

Hal is right, of course. (Hal is frequently right, damn her.) Drew sighs, examining the drink in his hands with all the misery of a man condemned.

“Hal, what do I _do_?”

Hal just cackles.

Drew doesn’t see what’s so amusing about his situation. “You’re a bad friend, you know that?”

Hal throws her head back and laughs harder at that, the unholy glee he’d seen in her eyes earlier pouring out of her now. Even in the noise of the busy pub, they’re starting to get stares.

Drew waits in indignant silence as Hal takes pity and tries to rein in her mirth, cackles turning to wheezing chuckles that become choked coughs. After what feels to Drew like a small eternity, but is probably closer to thirty seconds, she wipes her eyes and looks at him, smile softening to something fond and exasperated.

“I actually heard some pretty good advice on a text-in show recently. One of the hosts said that if you like someone, it’s best to be honest and them know how you feel.”

“You know,” says Drew philosophically, “I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t point that out.”

That sets Hal off again, but at least she buys Drew his next drink to make up for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt list Gamma taken from [here on livejournal](https://1sentence.livejournal.com/) via the [1sentence community](https://www.pillowfort.social/community/1sentence) on pf.


End file.
